Rising from its bright cottage-hearth to heaven;
And from the deep empyrian the ear
Of holy faith an answering note receives,
To still the mourning soul, and dry its tears.
Sweet is the Sabbath to a world of care,
When spring comes blushing with her buds and flowers;
When summer scents the rose, and fills the grain;
When autumn crowns her horn, and binds her sheaves,
And winter keeps his cold watch on the hills.
The wakeful cock from distant farm-yard crows